


A Hitter's Love Language

by judithandronicus



Series: Judith's Fluffy Kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Fluff, Flufftober, Flufftober 2020, Introspection, Multi, OT3, Post-Canon, Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judithandronicus/pseuds/judithandronicus
Summary: Eliot watches over them. From the quiet corner in the shadows of the brewpub, he watches Hardison’s eyes twinkle with pride when Parker giggles into her milkshake, then leans in to rest her head on that broad shoulder.  They’re beautiful like that—unguarded and peaceful and completely content. They should always be like that, Eliot thinks. Content.--Eliot is compelled to protect Hardison and Parker, especially when they don't know he's watching.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Series: Judith's Fluffy Kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951795
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75
Collections: Flufftober2020





	A Hitter's Love Language

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first Leverage fic, so...hi new fandom! And it's day one of Flufftober!

Eliot watches over them. 

From the quiet corner in the shadows of the brewpub, he watches Hardison’s eyes twinkle with pride when Parker giggles into her milkshake, then leans in to rest her head on that broad shoulder. They’re beautiful like that—unguarded and peaceful and completely content. They should always be like that, Eliot thinks. Content.

He watches over them.

Through the scope from an almost too distant perch on the building across the street. To the naked eye, it’s just a brief flash of pale blonde hair as they take the leap, but Eliot can see more. That combination of terror and absolute trust in those dark brown eyes. It’s breathtaking, really, the way Alec can let himself go so completely, his trust resolute that this tiny wisp of a woman will keep him safe. But Eliot can understand, though, because he feels it, too. 

He watches over them.

Even when it gets messy. No, _because_ it can get messy. Panting, he looks down at the bodies of the three men at his feet, only slightly broken now. His knuckles are scraped and bloodied; his face bruised; left eye on its way to swelling shut from the last guy’s lucky jab. One of them landed a decent kick to his right knee, which is already beginning to throb.

Off in the distance, in the chill of Portland autumn, Parker and Hardison walk, hand in hand. Parker’s holding a wand of cotton candy bigger than her face, and Eliot chuckles to think about how wired she’ll be when she gets home tonight.

He watches over them, careful to always stay in the shadows. Because, more than anything, he needs to protect them, to keep them safe.

He watches when they stop at the back door to the brewpub. Parker rocks up onto the balls of her feet so that those lush pink lips can graze Alec’s cheek. From where he stands, Eliot can’t see the way her eyes crinkle at the corners as she looks up at him, but he knows they do. Because his do, too, when he looks up at Alec like that.

It’s a very distinctive crinkle. 

He watches over them, always, because he needs to keep them safe.

Eliot watches over them.

* * *

“He’s limping," Hardison complains. “Woman, this is ridiculous. I’m sick of him getting himself hurt like this. We need to talk to him.”

“Don’t be dense,” she replies, “he needs this.”

“I just hate seein’ him hurt.” 

“It’s what he _does_ , Alec.” Her brows furrow as Parker purses her lips, but the crusty pink string of cotton candy at the corner of her mouth softens the effect. Hardison can’t help but smile at it. “Now, go get the first aid kit before he comes in.” And of course, he does what he’s told.

* * *

They’re snuggled on the sofa when Eliot walks in, carelessly tosses his keys into the bowl sitting on the table by the door. He’s walking deliberately, gingerly, and maybe he thinks they won’t notice that he’s hurting. Because Eliot thinks that they don’t see. 

He collapses into the overstuffed chair next to the sofa and rests a foot (the injured one, _natch_ ) on the coffee table. 

“Rough night?” Hardison asks, going for nonchalant and somehow ending up at smug, instead. Eliot cuts his eyes over toward them, and is met with two soft, knowing smiles.

“Wh-what are you—I, uh…what do you mean?”

“ _Eliot_.” There’s a gravity to Parker’s voice that turns his name into a request, a prayer, a reprimand, a reprieve, all at once. “Show me where you’re hurt.” Parker reaches for the first aid kit. “Hardison, get an ice pack.”

“Y’all…y’all know? But…but how?”

* * *

Eliot watches over them, because he needs to keep them safe. 

And they watch over him, because he needs to know he’s loved. 


End file.
